


Jaime Lannister Investigations - Episode 9 of 13

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: Jaime Lannister Investigations [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-16 16:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12346470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Series Summary:The great detective, Jaime Lannister? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. It was working like a charm—until the day he walked in, with his green eyes and mysterious past.Episode 9:A case to find a missing Maester, who disappeared after making an exciting discovery in the ruins of Vaes Dothrak, sends Jaime and Brienne to far-flung Essos and the Dothraki Sea.





	1. Teaser

Awesome banner by the equally awesome justme. :)

***/*/*/*/***

The theft of the dragon eggs creates another media frenzy that Jaime manages to deflect as gracefully as he had managed to deflect the glory of finding the artifacts back to Lew, Jorah and the others.

“Will you be investigating the theft?” one reporter asks breathlessly.

Jaime gives her a professional smile.  “My colleagues and I have not been invited to assist with the investigation. I’m certain the Driftmark City Watch is more than capable of solving this crime, but, of course, we’d be more than happy to help, if requested.  I do have a personal connection to these artifacts, and I hope they are quickly recovered.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’re still fielding calls from reporters when they walk into the boardroom for a meeting with a potential new client and find the oldest man Jaime has ever seen sitting at the table.  He is completely bald, his shoulders stooped with an air of fragility, and—Jaime notices the folded white cane beneath the old man’s hand—he’s blind.  Their visitor is accompanied by a young man with an unfortunately red complexion who looks as worried as Jaime feels that the old man is going to drop dead if someone sneezes in his direction.

Brienne smiles and says, “Maester Aemon?  I am Brienne Tarth.”

The ancient man holds out his hand and she shakes it.

“And I am Jaime Lannister,” Jaime says.

The old man nods and holds out his left hand.  Jaime raises an eyebrow as he takes it.

“Don’t be surprised, Mr. Lannister.  My steward here, Chett, does his research.  And, of course, I’ve seen—in a manner of speaking—you and Ms Tarth on television many times these last few weeks.”

“Yes,” Brienne says, “it’s a pity about the dragon eggs.”  She shoots Jaime a lightning glance and he smirks.

“Yes,” Maester Aemon says.  “It’s those appearances that prompted this visit.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he pulls out a chair for Brienne.  She stalls and gives him a puzzled frown before she sits.  He gives her a bland smile as he takes his own seat, and she blinks before she turns her attention back to their visitors.

“Are you here to give us information about the eggs?” Jaime asks.

Maester Aemon barks a laugh, and that, at least, sounds as if it’s emanating from a much younger man.  “Nothing more than I’m certain the eggs are frauds, planted right beneath your very nose.”

Jaime’s smile turns cold.  “Have you come here for the sole purpose of calling me a fool?”

Maester Aemon barks another laugh and says, “Fool or no, I’ve come here to hire you.”

Jaime’s eyes pop wide.  “Hire me?”

“You may not recognize a hoax like the dragon eggs, but your ability to uncover other secrets precedes you.  Maester Marwyn, my friend and colleague at the Citadel, has not contacted me or anyone else in weeks.  I would like you to find him.”

Jaime’s lips quirk into a smile.  “And tell him to phone home?”

Maester Aemon frowns and Brienne rolls her eyes.

“Our pardons, Maester.  Mr. Lannister can never resist making a movie reference.  When was the last time you heard from Maester Marwyn?”

“Four weeks ago.”  Maester Aemon leans forward and Jaime swears he hears the old man’s bones creaking.  “Maester Marwyn is one of the best historians at the New Citadel.  He left for Essos three months ago, to join a dig at a site that is most likely the lost Dothraki city of Vaes Dothrak.  Four weeks ago, he called to tell me that he has made a magnificent find.  He wouldn’t tell me what it was, but he was as giddy as a school boy.”  His smile is faint and his sightless eyes gleam with amusement.  “I can make movie references, too, Mr. Lannister.”

Jaime grins.  “ _Azor Ahai and the Last Lightbringer_.  1989.  Well played, Maester.”

“And appropriate as well.  Maester Marwyn has been obsessed with seeking out mythical magical artifacts for all the years I’ve known him but he has never gone so long without contacting at least the New Citadel.  I want you to find him and, yes, Mr. Lannister:  tell him to phone home.”

*/*/*/*/*

Bronna’s expression is incredulous as she watches Brienne carefully lay out the sparse amount of clothes she’s taking with her on their long journey to what may be Vaes Dothrak in the far-flung reaches of the Dothraki Sea.  Brienne’s face is already burning from her conversation with Bronna and she hopes her friend will let just let things go.

“I don’t believe it,” Bronna says.

No such luck, Brienne thinks with a silent groan as Bronna continues.

“You’re still not fucking?  What are you, a septa?”

Brienne didn’t think it was possible, but her face gets even hotter.  She wonders if there will be a point where she literally bursts into flame from Bronna’s bluntness.

“It’s complicated, Bronna,” she says.

“His _past_ is complicated; your _emotions_ are complicated; getting naked and banging him until his c—”

“ _Bronna!_ ”

Bronna rolls her eyes.  “My point is, sex isn’t complicated!”  She pauses, frowning.  “Well, so long as you don’t make the knots too fancy...”

Brienne drops the t-shirt she’s holding, puts her hands over her face and half-screams, half-groans into them.

“Will you please go away?” she begs.

Bronna shrugs.  “Okay,” she says and stands.

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “Where are you going?” she asks.

Bronna laughs.  “Don’t worry; I’m not that easily offended!  But I arrived to help you pack only to discover you’re not only still celibate, you’re out of ice cream, too.  I’m going to go solve at least one of those problems for you.”  She starts snicker again at the look on Brienne’s face.  “ _Ice cream_ , Brienne!  You already have a solution to the celibacy thing!”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne is finished packing, her bag ready in the living room, when Bronna returns laden down with enough ice cream to stock a corner store.

“What the hells...?” Brienne sputters.

Bronna shrugs.  “If I’m not going to get any vicarious sexual satisfaction, then you’re going to be in an ice cream coma when I put you on that plane.  Maybe it’ll lower your defenses enough to join the mile high club.”

Brienne puts her hand over her eyes and sighs.  “And I’d finally stopped blushing...”

“Go put the ice cream away.  That should cool you off.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne isn’t quite in an ice cream induced coma by the time she arrives at the airport for their three a.m. departure, but it’s close.  She’s relieved when they finally board the plane and get settled in their seats.

Jaime gives her a half-smile as he finishes securing his seatbelt and says, “I don’t know who’s going to be sleeping on whose shoulder, but I’m going to be out like a light in about ten seconds.”

“Me, too,” Brienne says and gives him a sleepy smile as she throws the travel blanket she brought over them both.

*/*/*/*/*

In the end, they sleep on each other’s shoulders all the way to Vaes Efe, in the far reaches of the Dothraki Sea.

*/*/*/*/*


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N1:** I’VE FINISHED MY NOVEL, you guys, and it’s now available for pre-order on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple (I think), and Smashwords. I’M SO EXCITED!!! If anybody’s interested, I’ve put the title in my profile and there’s supposed to be some of it available as a preview. *does happy dance because DONE DONE DONE!!*

*/*/*/*/*

They’re met at the airport by a handsome Dothraki man, his black hair worn in the ancient Dothraki tradition of a single long braid with bells woven into it.  He introduces himself as Drogo, Maester Marwyn’s guide and local fixer before the Maester disappeared from the dig site.

“Maester Aemon asked me to meet you,” Drogo explains, his voice deep and only slightly accented.  “I am to be _your_ guide and fixer as well, during your time here.”

Brienne nods as they follow him outside into the dry heat of the day.  “Did Maester Marwyn give any indication he wanted to leave the dig site?”

“None,” Drogo says as they approach a rugged all-terrain land rover.  “If I had known he was planning on leaving, I would have gone with him.”  He gives them a steady look as he unlocks the vehicle.  “Visitors do not simply roam the Dothraki Sea on their own.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as they clamber inside.  “I thought this was a relatively safe part of the world?” he says as Drogo drives out of the parking lot.  “I haven’t heard of any kidnappings in years.”

“True; but just because the Dothraki are no longer the marauding hordes they were in the past does not change geography.  The Dothraki Sea is still a vast expanse of grassland with little water and even fewer settlements.  Traversing it is not for the faint of heart.”

“Are you saying that Maester Marwyn left the dig on foot?” Brienne says, her voice sharp.

“None of the vehicles were gone when we discovered his absence,” Drogo says.

“Yet it’s taken four weeks for Maester Aemon to become alarmed?”

Drogo’s smile is sharp and fleeting.  “I cannot speak for Maester Aemon, but I have known Maester Marwyn for many years now.  The Dothraki Sea is not for the faint of heart, but that does not describe the Maester.  He has spent more time here than any other Westerosi in living memory, and has roamed back and forth across the Sea more often than even the khalasars of legend.  If he chose to leave on foot, I have no doubt he would reach his destination...if he remembered what that may be.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Maester Marwyn is a brilliant scholar and an experienced explorer, but he is also the very picture of the absent-minded Maester.  He does not need me to keep him safe; he needs me to remind him of where he is going and why.”

*/*/*/*/*

The Dig Director meets them at the car.

“I’m Missandei,” she says, shaking their hands.  “I’ll take you to your tents so you can freshen up.”

They stroll along with her, and Brienne looks around her with avid curiosity.

This is a much larger operation than the dig on Driftmark, with scores of people scurrying round the small tent city that has sprung up on the treeless plains and foothills leading to the Mother of Mountains, looming in the distance.

Missandei notices her expression and smiles.  “This is the largest dig ever attempted in this part of the world,” she says with a hint of pride.  “The finds we’re making will rewrite the history of the Dothraki people.”

Brienne nods, scanning the crowds, seeing several teams sifting through debris on a sieve in one quarter of the camp, while another quarter is packed with tables covered in neat rows of what looks like clay artifacts interspersed with the occasional flash of gold.  Scores of people are bent over those tables, taking photographs, making drawings, and writing notes.

Missandei’s smile grows wider.  “I’ll give you a tour once you’ve freshened up and put your things away in your tents.  Don’t worry about the safety of your belongings; we’ve hired a private security firm to ensure the camp is perfectly secure.”

“Oh?” Jaime says, his own eyes brightly curious as he, too, scans the activities of the camp.  “Which security firm?”

“Bitterbridge,” Missandei says and Brienne stops in mid-stride.

Jaime and Missandei take several more steps before realizing she’s no longer beside them.  They stop and turn. 

“They come highly recommended,” Missendei says with a puzzled note in her voice.

Brienne forces a professional smile. “Yes,” she says as she starts walking again, “I’ve heard of them.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime watches Brienne with confused fascination as Missandei shows them around the dig site.  Brienne’s as nervous as a cat, peering suspiciously at each new group of people they approach, relaxing only once she sees all of their faces.

He listens to the Dig Director with only half an ear while he watches Brienne and amuses himself with trying to determine the reasons for Brienne’s behaviour:  a business rival she once beat out for a lucrative case?  A former business relationship that ended badly?  A former lover? 

Jealousy sparks his blood at the last thought before he catches himself.  He of all people has no right to be jealous of anything she might have done before their first kiss.

He returns his attention to Missandei.

“...evidence of the Great Burning in the form of an ash deposit throughout the Dothraki Sea, but here we’ve found the charred remains of a city.  Whatever happened here was hot enough to melt gold!  It’s the only such location we’ve found in the region, and the only place in the world with melted gold.”

“And that’s why you think this may be Vaes Dothrak?”

Missandei nods.  “The legends say it was burned to the ground by dragons as they defended the last Dragon Queen.”

“If you can believe the legends,” a new voice says behind them, and Jaime notices Brienne’s hissed intake of breath and her stiff shoulders before she, too, turns to look at the newcomer.

He’s a husky, red-haired man, who smiles at Jaime and Missandei before raking contemptuous eyes over Brienne and dismissing her.  He holds out his hand.  “I’m Ronnet Connington; it’s a true honour to meet the Great Detective Jaime Lannister at long last.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he shakes Connington’s hand with his left one, and says, “Thank you.  This is my associate—”

“Oh, Brienne and I go way back,” Ronnet says, and flicks his eyes over her once more.  “I see you haven’t changed.”

She flushes a deep, dark red, and Jaime’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Nor have you,” Brienne growls and Ronnet’s smile is as patronizing as it is amused.

He turns back to Jaime.  “I understand you’re here to find Maester Marwyn.”

“Yes,” Jaime says.

“Then you’ll have to work through me and my men.  Follow me.”

*/*/*/*/*

To Brienne’s horror, they’re all there:  Mark Mullendore; Big Ben Bushy; Richard Farrow and Edmund Ambrose, Raymond Nayland and Will Stork; Harry Sawyer and Robin Potter.  Lording over all of them, puffed up as if he actually has something to be proud about, is Ronnet Connington.

Just when she thought she never had to deal with these assholes again, she thinks bitterly, and this time it will be in front of Jaime.

Speaking of Jaime, the men are fawning over him, clapping him on the back and treating him as if he’s one of _them_ , instead of one of _hers_.  It doesn’t help she’s been all but literally shoved to the side as they crowd around their new hero, asking him about cases _she_ solved long before Jaime appeared on the scene.

Jaime, as usual, is glib and charming, sidestepping questions he can’t or doesn’t want to answer, but she sees the question in his eyes whenever he glances her way.  She stands, arms crossed tight across her chest, and watches everything with a glower on her face.

“This is all very entertaining, gentlemen,” Jaime finally says with another searching glance in her direction, “but we have work to do.”  He strides to her and puts his gold hand in the small of her back and guides her into the circle.  “Maester Marwyn?” he says to Ronnet Connington with a pointed smile.

Ronnet almost rolls his eyes then shrugs.

“There’s not much to tell.  Maester Marwyn was working just like everyone else, then, according to witnesses, he discovered something that made him hurry to his tent, babbling incoherently with excitement.  In the morning, he was gone.”

“And no one thought to raise the alarm?” Brienne snaps.

Ronnet’s eyes flick over her before he turns back to Jaime.  “Of course we raised the alarm,” he says, his tone as sarcastic as his expression.

Jaime’s smile is cold and sharp.  “What did you do?”

“We searched the camp and his tent.  He was simply nowhere to be found.  No vehicles were taken; there were no disturbances; no signs of struggle in his tent.  The only conclusion we could come to was that he called someone to pick him up.”  Ronnet shrugs.  “We decided he would either return or let someone here know where he went.”

Jaime glances at Brienne.  “Sounds reasonable.”

“When did you realize he hadn’t contacted anyone?” Brienne says, her voice brisk and professional.

Ronnet barks a laugh.  “When Maester Aemon called to let Missandei know you would be arriving.”

“Did he leave anything behind?” Jaime asks.

“Everything, as far as we can tell.  His tent is still here, untouched since we searched it for a note.”  He scowls at Jaime and Brienne.  “Look,” he says, “Maester Marwyn is a grown man and experienced with this part of the world.  There was no sign of a struggle in his tent, and if he wants to walk into the Dothraki Sea and disappear, that’s his prerogative. We had no idea he had _literally_ disappeared until Maester Aemon called looking for him.”

Brienne sniffs.  “‘Security’ firm,” she mutters.

Ronnet glares.  “We’re here to protect the artifacts from theft, the dig from treasure hunters, and bored scientists from killing each.  We’re not here to babysit an old man whose only interests are pottery shards and fragments of metal!”  He turns back to Jaime.  “I’ll take you to Marwyn’s tent.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne survey the tent:  small enough to still be relatively cozy, but large enough for both of them to stand up straight with room to spare.  There’s a table strewn with papers, a bed left unmade, a cabinet overflowing with more papers and artifacts, and a trunk at the foot of the bed.

Jaime turns to Ronnet.  “You say you searched in here?”

“We looked for a note but found nothing.”

Brienne looks at him and gives him an austere nod.  “We’ll take it from here,” she says.

Connington opens his mouth but Jaime forestalls him.  “We’re going to rip this place apart; see if he left a note and it slipped behind the bed or something.  We’ll find you once we’re finished.”

Ronnet glares daggers at Brienne then motions for his men to follow him out.

Jaime waits until he’s sure they’re alone before he turns to Brienne, who’s already poking through the papers on Marwyn’s desk.

“So,” he drawls, strolling towards her, “you and Connington have a history, I see.”

“Ha,” she says without looking at him, “very funny.  You should be a detective.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder but she shrugs it away.  He scowls.  “Look at me.”

She takes a deep breath then meets his eyes with a resolute set to her chin.  He gives her a searching look, seeing not just her rage but also a deep, underlying hurt beneath it.  His heart twists and he opens his arms.

“Come here,” he says and she blinks at him then slowly steps into his embrace.

He hugs her close, her body stiff and unyielding against him.  He rubs a soothing hand up and down her back and says, “We’re going to get through this...whatever ‘this’ is.”  He leans back and frowns.  “Am I going to have to bury his body in the middle of the Dothraki Sea?”

She rolls her eyes, but Jaime feels her relax just a slight bit.

“That’s good,” he says.  “There’s not much cover out there.  We’d probably have to do a _Weekend at Bernie’s_ kind of thing if we didn’t want to get caught.”

She frowns.  “What?”

He sighs and shakes his head.  “How you’ve managed to stay completely oblivious to popular culture is a magic all its own.  _Weekend at Bernie’s_ , 1989.  Two hapless men end up dragging their boss’ dead body around in an effort to hide the fact the man’s dead.  Hijinks ensue.”

Brienne wrinkles her nose in disgust.  “Sounds charming.”

“It has its moments,” he says and gives her a quick peck on the lips.  He grins.  “Let’s get to work.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N2:** There may come a fic where I don’t make Red Ronnet Connington a complete and utter asshole…but it’s not this one—LOL.


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:**   Well, it’s that time of year again: NaNoWriMo is about to start.  I’m going non-traditional this time, and I’ll be working completing the 4-and-4/6ths of this series that’s left.  That should easily be 50,000 words or more ( _save yourselves_ )( _take me with you_ ).  What does this mean for you and/or my posting schedule?  Hopefully nothing, except I might actually speed up a bit – LOL.

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime and Brienne thoroughly search Marwyn’s tent, but find nothing except more evidence that the man’s departure from the dig site was not planned.

“I don’t know how many Maester’s robes he has,” Jaime says, peering into the trunk at the foot of the bed, “but I’d guess he’s left ninety percent of them behind.”

Brienne glances at him with a smile.  “Not everyone needs as varied a wardrobe as you.”

“It matches my varied life,” he says and winks before he begins pulling things out of the trunk, one at a time.

*/*/*/*/*

They finally admit defeat and join the others in the mess tent for supper.  Brienne eats silently, pointedly ignoring the men from Bitterbridge while listening to the conversation flowing over her with a sharp ear.  She politely refuses Missandei’s invitation to the pub set up on the outskirts of the tent city.

Missandei shrugs at Jaime’s questioning look and says, “We’re out here for weeks and sometimes months at a time, and we can’t be all work all the time.  There’s a strict two drink maximum, but the music plays so long as people are willing to dance, and we show movies every weekend.”

Jaime’s face lights up and Brienne groans.  “Don’t get him started,” she says and pushes to her feet.  “I’m going to bed.”

He gives her a fleeting smile and turns back to Missandei.  “What’s on this weekend’s schedule?” Brienne hears him ask as she leaves the table.  “Do you have _Weekend at Bernie’s_ by any chance?”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne is still smiling and shaking her head over Jaime’s obsession as she enters her tent.  She scoops up her backpack and puts it on the bed, then yawns as she opens it and pulls out some of her clothes, searching for the boxers and t-shirt that are her night clothes.  She jumps as something flies out of her backpack and lands on top of the blanket.

She blinks at the small square of brightly coloured, shiny foil and wonders if she looks as stupid as she feels, because it looks like...she doesn’t...she can’t quite...she reaches for the festive-looking thing with a feeling of impending disaster.

She picks it up and yes...yes, it’s exactly what she thought it looked like.

Where the fuck did the condom come from? she wonders.  Are the Bitterbridge Boys still playing their cruel pranks?  For a moment, rage sweeps through her at the thought, then a vague memory surfaces of the guards at the King’s Landing airport with their disbelieving, almost-pitying faces after they scanned her luggage as she and Jaime made their way through security.

But if the condom was put in her luggage in King’s Landing...?

She closes her eyes and prays for strength.

_Bronna._

All those times she sent Brienne from the room on one pretext or another...

And knowing Bronna...

Brienne puts the packet she’s holding back on the bed and peers into her backpack as cautiously as if it were filled with angry grumpkins.  Beneath another tightly rolled t-shirt, she thinks she sees...she lifts the t-shirt and groans.

More square foil packets.

 _Fucking_ Bronna!

Brienne grabs her bag and dumps everything out on the bed, and her jaw drops at the sheer number of packets that fall out with her clothes.  She opens up every pocket of her bag, and wherever she looks, she finds more.  Finally, tucked in the small cloth case holding her toiletries, she finds—along with another three condoms—a folded piece of paper.

She smooths it open with shaking hands and sees Bronna’s familiar scrawl:  _Let your hormones do the thinking; you’ve got it covered._

“Brienne?”

She lets out a startled yip at Jaime’s soft voice at the closed entrance of her tent.

“Just a second!” she calls, far too loudly to be natural, and scrambles to pull the blankets over everything on the bed.

Godsdamn _fucking_ Bronna!

Jaime’s handsome face is confused when she finally opens the tent flap.

“Everything okay in there?” he asks.

Her face is burning as hot as the sun.  “Fine, fine.  Just getting ready for bed.”  His raised eyebrow is the picture of skepticism and she hurries to say, “I thought you were going out for drinks?”

He shrugs.  “Turns out the Bitterbridge Boys don’t get any better even with a drink in your hand.”

“Oh.”  She stares at him in silence and watches as an amused smirk slowly spreads across his face.  “Then...did you need something?”

His smirk turns wicked and in an instant, her blush is back, but at least it’s not because she’s embarrassed.

He steps closer.  “Just hoping for a good-night kiss,” he purrs.  “Maybe two.”

She ducks her head but can’t stop her own slow smile.  “I can do that,” she says, as breathless as any other maid, and steps aside to let him in.

*/*/*/*/*

In the end, she loses count of how many good-night kisses they share.  She’s  actually considering pulling him down on the bed and—as Bronna suggested—letting her hormones do the thinking when the mental image of how he would react to seeing the far-too-many condoms scattered beneath the blanket almost makes her burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Her obvious amusement confuses Jaime, and he pouts as he tells her he didn’t think his kissing abilities were quite that bad.

She has no idea how to even begin to explain what’s going on, so she settles for kissing him one last time before reluctantly ushering him back outside.

*/*/*/*/*

They spend the next couple of days scouting the dig site and the terrain surrounding it.  The land is barren and treeless and seemingly endless as Drogo takes them to a lake about a half hour’s drive from base camp.

“This is the lake the Dothraki call the Womb of the World,” he says.

It’s a pretty place, green and lush in comparison to the barren plains that surround it.  There’s a single, long wooden dock jutting into the water, with a single boat moored to it.  Brienne assesses it with a critical eye:  not quite a speed boat, but not quite a yacht either, it’s small enough to zip around the lake, yet looks large enough to house a tiny galley and bunk below deck.

“This is the only fresh water for miles,” Drogo says, “and while we would prefer to ban any and all boats on the lake, it’s also the fastest way to get to New Ibbish on the Shivering Sea.”  He shrugs.  “Two days, if you take the river; four days if you drive.”

Brienne frowns, trying to remember what little she knows of the geography of the region.

Drogo smiles.  “You could get there faster but only the most reckless sails the river at night.  Travelling by land takes four days because there are few roads, fewer gas stations, and the land is notorious for hidden soft spots that shift and move with the will of the gods, it seems...and only the most reckless travel the Sea at night.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne also spend their time interviewing all those who had the most contact with Marwyn during his time on the site.  Everyone they chat with agrees the Maester is absent-minded but skilled; vague yet more than capable of surviving on his own in the Dothraki Sea; excitable and probably the most knowledgeable person in the world regarding the legends of the Great Exile, when the Dothraki hordes followed the last Dragon Queen across the sea to Westeros and did not return for hundreds of years.

Brienne grudgingly admits that the Bitterbridge Boys have been nothing but cooperative and polite, but she knows it won’t last.

*/*/*/*/*

On the third day, rumors begin to surface that some of the artifacts have gone missing.  Missandei wastes no time in sharing the rumors with Jaime, Brienne, and the Bitterbridge Boys.

Ronnet’s face is as red as his hair when Missandei finishes speaking.

“Impossible,” he snarls.  “We’re the best in the business!  How dare you or anyone else suggest that someone has been stealing artifacts out from under our noses!”

Brienne says, “I haven’t seen any security cameras or motion detectors anywhere.”

He turns on her.  “That was at Missandei’s direction!  We told her that without cameras, we couldn’t keep eyes on every part of the site 24-7!  How dare you imply we’re incompetent!”

Brienne’s eyes are cold.  “I was simply making an observation.”

“Ronnet is right,” Missandei hastily says, her expression anxious.  “I refused the cameras and the motion detectors.  We’re scientists and we tend to work at all hours.  We’re also living in camp for weeks and months at a time.  I didn’t think people would appreciate having everything we do here caught on camera.”  She shrugs at Jaime and Brienne’s expressions.  “Most of us are young and far from home, and like I said before:  we can’t work _all_ the time.”

Jaime says, “Do we have any idea which artifacts are missing?  Marwyn has a cabinet full of curiosities; mayhaps they’re in there?”

“We’re looking into it now,” Missandei says.  “Hopefully these are just rumors caused by nothing more than your arrival and the news that Marwyn’s truly missing.”

*/*/*/*/*

“It’s true,” Grey Worm, the Assistant Director of the dig, tells them the next afternoon.

Ronnet groans and slumps in his chair, a hand over his eyes.

Grey Worm says, “I’ve already found at least ten bins of fragments that are several kilos lighter than they should be.  There are also at least a dozen large artifacts we haven’t been able to locate in inventory.”  He looks at Missandei then back at the others.  “The bins I’m talking about are filled with shards of pottery or other materials that are too small to be used for reconstruction.  Many of the shards are imbued with melted gold.”

“ _Imbued_?” Jaime says.

Grey Worm nods.  “Gold has melted into the very pores of the pottery itself.  We’ve been debating whether what we’re finding is truly pottery as we define it, or if whatever happened here was so powerfully hot that it baked the very soil into what could pass as pottery.  We’ve found glass objects where it’s obvious the glass and gold melted and cooled together.”  He glances again at Missandei.  “Three of those kind of artifacts are missing.”

She shakes her head and turns to the others.  “On the face of it, these artifacts are historically insignificant since it’s impossible to determine what they might have been when intact.  However, given the context in which they were found—and their very nature—they’re priceless.”

“How could so many artifacts go missing without anyone noticing?” Brienne asks, and ignores Ronnet’s glare.

Missandei says, “You have to understand: we’ve found, catalogued, and stored thousands of artifacts, and filled hundreds of bins with these tiny fragments.  If someone scooped a handful from each bin, we would never know just by looking at the bins.”

Grey Worm nods.  “We only know something’s wrong because we weighed each bin when we put it into inventory.  Now we’re finding significant differences in the weight and a quick visual check shows most of the gold is gone.”

Jaime hums, and says, “If you add up everything you know is missing, how much do you think these missing artifacts might be worth?”

Grey Worm says, “My calculations are rough, and we haven’t weighed every bin, so I may be completely off…”

“Spit it out,” Ronnet growls.

“What we know is missing?  Three hundred thousand dragons.  If we include what may be missing?  Five hundred thousand.  Roughly.  Based on gold value alone.”

There’s a moment of suspended silence then Missandei turns to Ronnet Connington with fire in her eyes.  “What the _fuck_ are we paying you for if someone can walk off with three hundred thousand dragons worth of gold right under your noses?”

Ronnet puffs up.  “How dare you lay this on us?”

Missandei’s eyes narrow.  “You also didn’t ‘notice’ that somebody drove into camp and picked Marwyn up!  I thought security firms were supposed to actually make places more secure!”

“They may not have driven up to the camp!  Marwyn could have slipped away to meet them outside base camp!”  Ronnet’s face reddens as his voice rises.  “ _You’re_ the one who refused the cameras or motion detectors around the camp!  How do we know _you_ haven’t siphoned off that gold and hidden it somewhere?”

“Enough!”  Brienne says, her voice firm, and they fall silent, glaring at each other across the suddenly too small space of Missandei’s tent.  “Missandei, how wired is this part of the world?  I mean, are there traffic cameras in all the cities and towns?  GPS in the vehicles?  That sort of thing?”

“There are a few, yes, but it’s not as extensive as Westeros.  Why?”

“If someone came here to pick Marwyn up, they had to come from _somewhere_.  Vaes Efe is the closest city, correct?”

“Yes.”

Brienne and Jaime exchange a glance.  “We’ll start there.”

“Start there with what?” Connington demands.  “You have no idea what you’re looking for!  And how are you going to find anything, anyway?”

Brienne’s smile is coolly impersonal.  “We have to start somewhere,” is all she says.

*/*/*/*/*

Sam is _not_ pleased.

“You’ve always said you like a challenge,” Brienne says.

“This isn’t a challenge!  It’s more like Mission Impossible!”

“Nice,” Jaime says.

*/*/*/*/*

Sam does his best but it takes him only two hours to tell them he’s going to need more time than they have to make any headway at all.

Brienne gives the others the bad news and leans back in her chair with a dejected sigh.

Ronnet sneers.  “I knew you’d come up empty.”  He turns to Missandei and Grey Worm.  “Now, _we_ have a lead—slim, but worth pursuing.  Marwyn can’t be carting all that gold with him back to Westeros, so we looked for the nearest place he could convert it to cash.  Turns out there’s a gold market at New Ibbish.”

“That’s still four days’ drive away,” Missandei says.

“Two, if you take the river to the Shivering Sea,” Jaime murmurs.

“Three hundred thousand dragons worth of gold is a lot to cash in all at once,” Brienne says with a thoughtful air.

“He would definitely be remembered,” Connington says.  “We’re leaving in the morning.”

Brienne’s smile is cold.  “We’ll be going with you.”

*/*/*/*/*

Two hours before dawn, Brienne slips into Jaime’s tent as silent as a shadow.  She kneels beside his bed and whispers his name as she shakes his shoulder.

“Brienne?” he says, his voice thick and husky.  “What...?”

“We need to leave now,” she hisses.  “We have to get to Marwyn before Connington and his friends do.”

Jaime blinks sleepy eyes and scowls.  He opens his mouth but she forestalls him.

“ _Trust me_ , Jaime.”

*/*/*/*/*

They creep out of the circle of tents and head to Drogo’s range rover.

“He’s going to be so pissed,” Jaime mutters as they throw their backpacks on the back seat and climb inside.

“I left a note in Missandei’s office,” she says.

He starts the engine.

“They’re going to be hot on our trail,” Jaime says as he hits the gas, dirt and grass and pebbles spitting out behind them.

“Mayhaps,” Brienne says with a feral smile.

He gives her a wide-eyed look.  “What did you do?”

She shrugs and pulls a fistful of cables from her pocket.  “I evened the odds.  Hopefully they have some spare parts in camp.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Did you look at a map?” Jaime says as base camp disappears from sight.

“Don’t need one,” Brienne says.  “Drive to the lake.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Not only are we going to recklessly sail at night, we’re stealing the boat, too?” Jaime says as Brienne casts off.  “I think I’ve corrupted you.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “It’s the only boat nearby,” she says and grins.  “We should get a good head start on the Bitterbridge Boys.”

Jaime hums as he stows their bags beneath the bench.  “Well, we’re going to have a couple of days on this river, at least.  Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Brienne scowls as she peers into the night, the lights of the boat barely piercing the darkness.  “Later,” she says.

Jaime makes a skeptical sound and she glances at him.

“I promise,” she says.

*/*/*/*/*


	4. Three

***/*/*/*/***

In the hour or so before dawn, they learn why only the very reckless chance the river at night.  The water is shallow and slow moving, and Brienne pores over the information on the glowing screen of her phone before inching the boat forward.

“The river floods every year during the rainy season,” she explains to Jaime, “and that changes the river bed every year.  Where it was once ten feet deep, it’s now two feet deep, and vice versa.”  She waves her phone at him and says, “This is the most recent map of the river I can find, and I’m not certain I trust it.”

“Won’t it be just as difficult to navigate during the day?”

“There’ll be more visual clues in the daylight.  We may still run aground, but hopefully it’ll be easier to avoid the shallows once we can actually see the river ahead of us.”

Brienne is proven correct once the sun rises, but it’s still a tense and stressful day as they take turns at the helm.  Late that afternoon, Jaime ventures into the cramped galley in search of food and thankfully finds some dry cereal, canned goods, and bottled water.

“Not quite fine dining,” he says as he relieves Brienne, “but at least we won’t starve.”

She nods as she tosses a handful of cereal in her mouth.  “I have some granola bars, too.”  She shrugs at his look.  “Everything else in the mess tent was locked down.”

Jaime grins.  “You stole a car and a boat; you could have stolen more food, too.”

“Maybe next time,” she says and he laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

Even in daylight, navigating the river requires focus and leaves little time for conversation.  Brienne notices the sun setting with relief because it means they’ll be able to take a break and rest.  She casts an eye along the shore for a good mooring site—preferably out of sight of anyone who may be looking for them.

She finally finds a tiny tributary that, according to what she can find through her phone, is deep enough for the boat, and is, she’s pleased to see, more than two-thirds of the way to the Shivering Sea.

“We should be in New Ibbish by midday tomorrow,” she says as she cautiously navigates their way through several twists and turns of the narrow waterway.

Jaime nods.  “Hopefully we’ll be there and gone before the Bitterbridge Boys arrive.”  He shrugs at her puzzled frown.  “We sabotaged their vehicles and stole their boat; I think I’d rather deal with the fallout when we’re in familiar surroundings…and someplace where the Chief of Police owes us a favour.”

*/*/*/*/*

The door to the cabin is locked and Brienne firmly tells Jaime to leave it alone.

“Do you really want to sleep in bunks used by any one of the Bitterbridge Boys?” she asks, her lip curling in a sneer.

He cocks his head, crossing his arms as he watches her take the long cushions off the benches and place them on the deck.

She sits on one of them with a grateful sigh then glances up at him.  She scowls at his expression. 

“What?” she snaps.

“Are you going to tell me what’s behind all of this?”

She scowls as she digs in her backpack and tosses him a granola bar.

“I have a history with the Bitterbridge Boys.  We don’t like each other.”

“Really?  I never would have guessed.”

He drags the second cushion next to hers and sits beside her.

She watches him from the corners of her eyes.

He leans against the bench and stretches his legs out in front of him.

“You promised to tell me,” he says, ripping open the granola bar.

She stays stubbornly silent, and just as stubbornly refuses to look him in the eye.

Jaime sighs, then reaches out and gently urges her to look at him.

“You’re as much a mystery as any of our cases,” he says, his voice wry, even as he drowns in the sheer beauty of her eyes.

She blinks.  “There’s absolutely nothing mysterious about me,” she says.

He shakes his head and says, “You run hot and cold.  You’re both sublimely confident and as uncertain as a schoolgirl.  You’re honest and forthright and a truly shitty liar, yet you set out to con the entire world, and did it successfully, too.  And then there’s whatever’s going on with the Bitterbridge Boys.  You have secrets of your own, Brienne.”

Brienne scowls and looks away.

“You promised,” Jaime says again.

She sighs, her shoulders slumping.  She sits in morose silence for long moments before she sighs again and begins to speak.

“The first time I met Ronnet Connington,” she says, “I was about fifteen.  My father was friends with his parents and they all came for a visit.  I acted as hostess, since my parents divorced when I was ten.  Ronnet came bearing a dozen roses, took one look at me, and...”  She shakes her head.  “The only way to describe it is to say he literally recoiled in horror.  Told me I was the ugliest girl he had ever seen and threw the roses in my face.  His parents were furious—sent him home on the next plane, which was probably what he wanted.”  Her smile is bitter and fleeting.  “At least they got him out of sight before my father could get his hands on him.”

“Anyway, our paths crossed again in college.  We were both studying criminology so we had almost every class together.  Ronnet and the Bitterbridge Boys were all members of the same club, and together they proceeded to make my life a living hell.  Insults and bullying, mostly. I was an average student but an excellent athlete—running, boxing, fencing—but that only meant they redoubled their jeering whenever I won a match.  The whole lot of them might have faded into just bad memories of assholes we all deal with from time to time, but in our senior year, our college hosted a three-day Age of Magic festival.  Knights in armor, beautiful maidens in even more beautiful clothes, a replica of the Targaryen’s Iron Throne, mock dragons and fake horses, and a tourney every day.

“I had to dress as a maiden—those were the rules—and I couldn’t find a dress that fit properly.  I felt and looked ridiculous that first day…and all the Bitterbridge Boys ‘paid court’ to me, as publicly and as obviously and as mockingly as possible.  Owen Inchfield won the tourney that first day, and—with great ceremony, he and his friends crowded round me, forced a bouquet of roses in my hands, and crowned me the Queen of Love and Beauty...then they and _everyone_ laughed and jeered and hooted and…”  She pauses, her hands curled into fists, a muscle clenching and unclenching in her jaw.  “It was all just part of the show, you see.”

“What did you do?” Jaime asks.

“Cried in my room all night.  Packed my things the next morning...then somebody knocked on my door and wouldn’t go away even though I screamed some pretty nasty things at them.  I finally opened the door, and there was this brash, outspoken, gives-no-fucks woman with fire in her eyes who told me those assholes were not going to win.”

“Bronna?”

“Bronna.  I never even saw her before that day.  She was a freshman; I was a senior.  I was studying criminology, she was a business major.  She had no school spirit, never attended a sporting event, and was no athlete, although she dated a few.  Yet there she was on my doorstep, looking ready to kill.”

“So what happened?”

Brienne chuckles.  “You know, I honestly can’t tell you...let’s just say that by the end of the day, I had armor and a tourney sword, and was entered in the third day’s tourney as a Mystery Knight.”  Her smile is slow and proud.  “I beat them all.  The crowd went crazy when I took off my helm.  I learned later that everyone thought it was part of the show, that all of it was planned out from the beginning.”  She grimaces.  “Unfortunately, everyone on that campus called me Beauty from then on...except Bronna, who was determined to be my best friend and look out for me.”

Her lips twist.  “My run-ins with Ronnet Connington and his friends didn’t end when we graduated.  We went into similar lines of work and at one point, we ended up at the same security firm and…let’s just say we never did learn to play well together.  Ronnet and his Bitterbridge Boys managed to get me fired from that job, and they did their damnedest to blackball me in King’s Landing.”  She brushes her hair off her forehead and scowls.  “I was reduced to doing divorce work for whichever lawyers would hire me.”

“Lannister, Kettleblack, Pycelle and Moon Boy, LLP?”

“They at least have a good reputation, unlike some of the others.”  She shudders.

“So how did you get from that to Jaime Lannister Investigations?”

Brienne shrugs.  “I was barely making ends meet—oh, who am I kidding?  The ends weren’t even within eyeshot of each other!  Bronna was letting me sleep on her couch when I hit on the idea that I might be able to get more work if I had a boss to hide behind—a _male_ boss:  someone handsome and dashing and mysterious and already renowned as an investigator.”

Jaime grins.  “And so Jaime Lannister Investigations was born?”

She nods.

They eat their granola bars in companionable silence, washing them down with bottled water Jaime brought up from the galley.

Jaime shifts so he can see her more fully, and says, “Why Jaime Lannister?  Why the gold hand?”

She’s bathed in shadows tinged with gold as she blinks those unbelievable eyes, and the small sounds of the world shifting from day into night fade as time stands still.

She ducks her head.  “W-w-well, I’m named after the first Tarth Queen, and they called me Brienne the Beauty, even though it was meant to hurt.  But I thought…I mean, I may not be the legendary beauty she was, but...”  She squirms a little on the cushion.  “It was stupid,” she mutters.

Jaime’s eyes gleam as he watches her.  “She was an equal partner to her King,” he says, his voice husky.

Brienne nods but refuses to look at him.

Jaime says, “She was also truly loved by him, if the ancient songs hold any truth.”

She grimaces.  “Yes,” she says, her voice wary.

“So you chose to name your imaginary boss after the man who loved your namesake and treated her as an equal...to remind yourself of…?”

She groans and closes her eyes.  Then she sighs, opens her eyes, and gives him a steady look.

She says, “I did it to remind myself of what I wanted in a relationship, both professionally and personally.  The first Tarth Queen and her King lived and loved and ruled for many years after they took the Iron Throne.  They’re proof that love really can last forever and people really do stay.  At least, that’s what the legends say.”

Jaime slowly smiles and moves a little closer.  “There’s a kernel of truth in every legend,” he murmurs and leans in to kiss her.

*/*/*/*/*

They kiss leisurely, languorously, and Brienne feels like every tug of his mouth against hers is drawing her closer and closer to some point of no return.

The thought frightens her and she holds him off and looks at him.  He blinks down at her, his golden hair glowing in the moonlight.

They stare at each other and she opens her mouth then closes it again, not sure what it is she wants to say.

He gently brushes her hair away from her forehead and says, his voice a warm, low rumble against her chest, “I’m not going anywhere, Brienne.”

In this light, she wants to believe him; in this light, his words make her want to cry.

She cups his face and kisses him instead.

*/*/*/*/*

“This is new for me, too,” Jaime says, nuzzling against her shoulder, his hands warm even through her shirt.  She shivers at the little butterfly kisses he presses against her neck.

“We’ve kissed before,” she says, her voice weak.

His soft laugh puffs across her skin and she moans.

“It feels different tonight,” he murmurs and smooths his hand down the length of her back and up again.

She melts against him.  “Yes,” she breathes, and kisses him, letting him feel all the pent up hunger she’s stored from the moment she first set eyes on him.

Their kisses now are carnal, deep, hungry, and there are no words as clothing is unbuttoned and unzipped and shoved down their legs or pulled over their heads.

It’s not until they’re both naked and Jaime’s kissing his way down her body, making his way to that aching part of her between her thighs, that he suddenly stops and sits up.

She glares.

He gives her a pained smile.  “I just realized:  no condoms.”

Brienne’s glad she’s already flushed from his kisses and his touch, and half-hidden in the shadows of the night, because she feels the heat of a blush burning her cheeks.

“Not a problem,” she mumbles.

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “What?”

She clears her throat and sits up to fling her arms around him as she kisses him.  When they break for air, he looks so handsome and so adorably confused, she can’t resist digging her fingers in his hair and kissing him again.

She can almost taste his confusion even as he enthusiastically returns her kisses, his hands once more moving over her body, seeking out those places he’s learned make her gasp and mewl and buck against him.

They break for air once again, panting, and Jaime buries his face against her neck and says, “As much as I’m enjoying this, this isn’t really helping the condom situation.”

It takes a moment for his words to break through the erotic haze clouding her mind.  She blinks at him and says, “Bronna planted a...a...a _lot_ of condoms in my backpack before I left.”

Jaime lifts his head, his eyes widening as he stares at her.

“How...how many is a ‘lot’?”

“A couple dozen.  Or more.  I haven’t had the courage to count.”

They stare at each other in silence, suspended in the quiet darkness broken only by the soft lapping of water against the boat’s hull and their own rapid breathing.

Jaime’s lips twitch.  “She’s a good friend.”

Brienne can’t help it:  in this moment, bathed in moonlight, naked as her nameday, half-mad with lust, her arms and legs wrapped around an equally naked and lustful Jaime, who’s looking like half-a-god and utterly delicious...she begins to giggle.

“She’s a _very_ good friend,” she manages to get out before they both lose it, clutching each other as they laugh so hard, tears stream down their cheeks.

When their laughter finally eases and they catch their breath, they smile at each other, warm and welcoming, and this time when their lips meet, there’s no more turning back.

*/*/*/*/*

“You know, Brienne…this wasn’t how I planned it.”

“Hm?”

“There was going to be candlelight and wine, soft music and Myrish silk sheets covered in rose petals.”

“...why would you go to all that trouble?”

“Because I wanted it to be something _special_.  Romantic.  Like something out of a movie or TV show, where they always seem to have a million candles on hand.  I mean, this is something out of a movie, too, but I was thinking of, I don’t know, _Dirty Dancing,_ maybe, rather than _The Dothraki Khaleesi_.”

“...I think this was better.  I hate roses.”

“...oh.  Good to know.”

“Although I might have changed my mind if they’re combined with Myrish silk and...and...”

“Great sex?”

“ _You_.  You might have changed my mind.”

“...I think that may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Jaime...”

...

...

“How many condoms did you say Bronna stuffed into your luggage?”

“A couple dozen.”

“That might be just enough to get us to New Ibbish.”

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Non-explicit descriptions/depictions of violence, explosions, guns, and blood.

***/*/*/*/***

It’s still dark when the rain wakes them.

“I thought we were past the rainy season,” Jaime mutters as they scramble to their feet and hurriedly move their makeshift bed beneath the tiny canopy of the boat.

“So did I,” Brienne says and shivers.

Jaime takes a moment to admire her naked body then says, “Well, if you still don’t want to sleep in the cabin, at least let me get some blankets.”

“I’m not certain the blankets would be any cleaner,” she says, then shivers again.  She grimaces and nods.

Jaime grabs his gold hand and descends to the cabin door.  He opens the hand, chooses a pick, then crouches down to open the lock.  For a moment, he’s struck by the sheer absurdity of it all:  crouched low, naked as his nameday, gold hand opened on the floor beside him, and thinks no one would ever put this scene in a movie because it’s too ridiculous to believe.

He’s still softly chuckling as the latch clicks open and he ducks inside.  After a moment of searching, he flicks the light on, closing his eyes against the sudden glare.

When he opens them, he stares for a long, silent moment then calls, “Brienne?  We have a problem.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne stands beside him and silently takes in the sight of all the plastic bins neatly stacked around the room.  The one open on the desk is half-full of grey shards glinting with gold.

She turns to look at Jaime.

Jaime turns to look at her.

“Well,” she says, “at least it’s not a body.”

“There is that, yes.”

“Still.  We are so fucked.”

“And not in the good way.”

*/*/*/*/*

By the time the sun rises, they’ve long left the tributary behind and are almost a mile from the river.  Even so, the sudden, sharp crack of gunshots sends them diving to the ground.  They peer through the tall grass towards the distant sounds and the trees that are still far too close for comfort, and listen as the gunshots increase in speed and volume.

Jaime mutters, “They really shouldn’t do—” and is interrupted by the sight of billowing smoke rising from behind the trees, followed by the sound of an explosion.

They reflexively duck down again before cautiously lifting their heads to watch.

“That’s really going to piss them off,” Brienne says.

Jaime smiles then leans over and kisses her.  “Would you like to do some running while they’re distracted?”

“Lead on,” she says and clambers to her feet.

*/*/*/*/*

They stop to rest several hours later and Jaime says, “This isn’t quite how I imagined the morning after the night before.”

Brienne blushes as she digs out a couple of granola bars and a bottle of water.  “Well,” she says, handing one of each to him, “I can’t say you don’t know how to show a girl a good time.”

*/*/*/*/*

They stop and make camp but decide against a fire.  As they eat some dry cereal and drink their water, Jaime says, “What kind of creepy crawlies live out here again?”

“I’d rather not think about it,” Brienne mutters.

Jaime chuckles then pulls out his phone.  “Let’s see if anyone got our messages.”

She nods and pulls out hers as well.  They frown over their phones for a few minutes, then Brienne says, “If the maps can be trusted, we should make Vaes Leqse in about a week.  Ned says he’ll make contact with the Khal of the Vaes Leqse’s City Watch, and mayhaps he’ll be able to meet us.”

Jaime grimaces.  “Here’s hoping we’ll be able to find something to supplement what food we brought with us until we get a ride.”  He gives her a quick smile and says, “Tyrion’s contacts have confirmed there was a large amount of unusual gold sold at the market in New Ibbish over the last few weeks.  The descriptions of the men selling it are pretty generic, though.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not even a little,” Jaime says and grins at her.

*/*/*/*/*

They walk for another two days before they stumble upon a tiny village that doesn’t appear on any of Brienne’s maps.  The residents are friendly albeit surprised to see two blonde giants stroll into sight, and several of them thankfully understand the Common Tongue.  There’s also food to be had that isn’t granola bars, cereal, or canned.  The village also has electricity and, even more importantly, a train goes through it twice a day:  once towards the east and once towards the west.

Out of respect for their hosts’ customs, Jaime and Brienne sleep in separate huts with the other unmarried men and women in the village, and on the following evening, they board the westbound train.

They lean back in their seats with sighs of relief, and Brienne says, “Next stop:  Vaes Leqse.  Ned says we’ll be met at the station.”

Jaime covers them both with the blanket they’d taken from the boat and which was washed earlier that day.  He says, “I’m just glad we no longer have to get there under our own steam.”

Brienne nods and yawns and Jaime chuckles as they snuggle closer. 

“Planes, trains and automobiles,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Well, let’s hope the last of our journey is smoother than that,” Brienne mumbles, and is instantly asleep.

*/*/*/*/*

They arrive in Vaes Leqse without incident and are met at the station by a man who introduces himself as Jhaqo, Khal of Vaes Leqse’s City Watch.

“Lord Commander Stark has vouched for you,” he says in his accented voice as he drives them to their hotel, “but I want the full story from you in the morning.  I’ll expect you at the station at nine.”

“We’ll be there,” Brienne says.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime looks up from his phone as Brienne wanders out of the bathroom after her shower.  She blushes as he eyes her legs with an appreciative smirk before he raises his eyes to hers and says, “Do you think whoever’s responsible will have already fled the scene?”

“It’s possible.  It’s also possible they think we’re dead, and that they can pin the thefts on Maester Marwyn and us.  Besides, if anyone has left, that gives us some prime suspects right there.”

“If our suspects have all disappeared, then what good does it to do to know who they are?”

Brienne shrugs.  “If it’s the Bitterbridge Boys, they won’t have gone far, especially since they believe their stolen gold has gone up in smoke.  Mind you, they have managed to cash some in, so that may change things if they decided to run.”

Jaime rolls off the bed and strolls towards her.  “You really think it’s the Bitterbridge Boys?”

Brienne sighs with pleasure as he slips his arms around her and nuzzles his face into the crook of her shoulder.

“I would _like_ it to be them,” she half-moans as Jaime nibbles his way up her neck.

He looks at her.  “You and me both,” he says, and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*

“Now, aren’t you glad I convinced you to bring the rest of the condoms?”

“Jaime...just shut up and kiss me.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jhaqo is skeptical at first, but he agrees to make some calls and confirms a burned out shell of a boat was found on the river leading from the Womb of the World to the Shivering Sea.  He accompanies them, along with a group of his most trusted officers, to the GPS coordinates Brienne provides.  When they find the bins of gold-infused pottery shards, hidden in the thick underbrush on the banks of the tributary, he gives them a thoughtfully approving look and nods.

*/*/*/*/*

Everyone’s expressions when Jaime and Brienne return to the dig site are almost worth the days of trudging through the grasslands skirting the northern edge of the Dothraki Sea.  Brienne sees their welcome party includes virtually everyone working at the dig site, including Missandei, Grey Worm, Drogo, along with Ronnet Connington and all his Bitterbridge Boys.

Missandei seems genuinely moved to see them, swiping tears from her eyes as she hurries to meet them.

“Thank the gods,” she says.  “We feared the worst when we got word the boat you’d taken had been found as nothing more than a burned out husk!”

“Alive and well, although footsore and weary,” Jaime says, his voice as bland as his face.

Missandei turns a puzzled smile towards Jaime and Brienne’s companions.

Jaime says, “This is Khal Jhaqo of the Vaes Leqse City Watch.  He’s been tasked by the Vaes Efe City Watch to assist us with the investigation into both the theft of the artifacts as well as the attempt on our lives.”

“Attempt—?  You mean it wasn’t an accident?”

“No,” Jaime says, his eyes cold and watchful.  “Did no one send out a search party for us?”

Now Missandei frowns.  “By the time we got one of our cars fixed so we could get to Vaes Efe, we’d received word the boat was found on the river and the New Ibbish police were investigating.”  She shakes her head.  “Why would anyone want to kill you?”

“They just wanted the boat,” Brienne says, her gaze focused on the people behind Missandei.

“Of course, shooting at it first was rather stupid,” Jaime says.  “If they’d boarded it, they would have known we’d abandoned it before they arrived.”

“They ended up blowing it sky high instead,” Brienne says, “along with all its contents...or so they thought.”

The glance between Ronnet Connington and Drogo is so fleeting Brienne would have missed it if she wasn’t watching them all so intently.  Jaime straightens beside her, and she knows he noticed it too.

“What contents?” Missandei asks and Brienne can’t help but smile at the woman’s confusion.

“Your missing artifacts were hidden in the cabin of the boat,” she says.

Missandei’s eyes slowly widen and her jaw drops as everyone around her draws in a sharp, hissing breath.

Missandei says, “But that’s _Drogo’s_ —”

She lets out a high-pitched yelp as Drogo roughly grabs her, his arm tight around her shoulders as he holds her in front of him, a gun pressed hard against her temple.  He glares around, then growls, “Give me the gold and the car, and I’ll let the girl go once I’m safely away.”

Brienne feels as if the world stops and is holding its breath.  She’s absurdly aware of the noise of insects, of Khal Jhaqo’s hand on his own holstered gun, of Jaime’s gold hand glittering in the sun.

“And your accomplice?” Jaime says, shattering the silence even though his voice is calm and soothing.  “Do you really think he’s not going to talk once you’re gone?”

That startles Drogo but before he can respond, Ronnet sighs as he, too, pulls a gun.

“How did you know?” he asks, sounding almost bored.

Jaime’s smile is sharp as a knife.  “I didn’t.  Not for certain, anyway.”

Ronnet bares his teeth in a caricature of a smile.  “Do you blame me?  All that gold—there was just so much of it, most of which would never again see the light of day once it got to a museum.  It was working like a charm.”

“Until now,” Brienne says, never taking her eyes off Drogo and Missandei.

“Until now,” Drogo agrees.

Brienne takes a step forward but freezes as Drogo points the gun at her.

She puts up her hands and says, “Have you ever seen _Miss Congeniality_?”

Drogo frowns as Ronnet barks a harsh laugh.

“What the _fuck_?” Ronnet says.  “Your employee has run mad at the first sight of danger, Jaime!”

Brienne shifts her gaze to Missandei, who’s looking at her with dawning realization.

“All you need to do is sing,” Brienne says.

Missandei drives her elbow into Drogo’s stomach, and Brienne is rushing them while Jaime rushes Ronnet.  Missandei stomps on Drogo’s instep, breaks his nose, then drives a fist into his groin while Brienne twists the gun from his hand and thinks she feels a bone in his wrist break for good measure.  Over the blood rushing in her ears she hears the crack of gold against flesh-covered bone, and Ronnet’s screams as he drops like a stone.

It’s all over in an instant, Brienne aiming the gun at Drogo while Jaime glares at Ronnet, writhing on the ground in agony. 

“I’ve been hoping for an excuse to do that, you little fucking _shit_ ,” Jaime growls with vicious satisfaction.

*/*/*/*/*

The rest of the Bitterbridge Boys swear by whatever gods that come to mind that they were not involved in stealing the gold.  While everyone is extremely skeptical, Drogo only implicates Ronnet.  Connington can’t say either way, since he’s been unconscious since the camp medical maester administered milk of the poppy to ease the pain of his broken jaw.  Jaime, Brienne and Jhaqo reluctantly accept the Bitterbridge Boys’ stories and allow them to return to base camp with Missandei and the others.

Several minutes later, Brienne and Jaime watch Jhaqo drive away in a cloud of dust, his prisoners in the back.

“You really think the others knew nothing about it?” Jaime asks, his voice pitched low.

“No,” Brienne says, “but until Ronnet regains consciousness, we won’t know for certain.”  She turns and scowls at him.  “Did you have to hit him so hard?”

Jaime smirks and raises his hand.  “It’s gold.  It’s going to cause damage.”  He sobers.  “Besides, the asshole deserved it for the way he’s treated you over the years.”

Her scowl deepens as she shakes her head, then she leans in and kisses him.

“What was that for?” he asks, snaking his arms around her waist and tugging her closer.

“For wanting to avenge me,” she says.  “Thank you.”

He smiles and kisses her again.

*/*/*/*/*

They give up on trying to fit on the cot and throw the mattress on the floor.

“At least I don’t have as far to fall,” Jaime mutters as his ass slides off the edge.

Brienne laughs.

*/*/*/*/*

To absolutely no one’s surprise, the Bitterbridge Boys are gone in the morning, but there’s a text message from Sam, telling them Maester Marwyn checked into a hotel in Qohor.

*/*/*/*/*

“I had no idea anyone would be worried,” Maester Marwyn says, blinking owlishly.

Jaime frowns.  “You leave without telling anyone where you’re going, then you don’t contact anyone for weeks, and you didn’t think people would be worried?”

“Didn’t you find my note?”

“You didn’t leave a note.”

“I didn’t...?  I could have sworn...?  I distinctly remember…I was very excited and I had to leave right away if I wanted to catch the first plane out of Vaes Efe...but still...oh!”  He digs in his pockets and finally pulls out a crumpled piece of paper.  He smooths it and beams as he holds it out to them.  “See?  Here it is.”

Jaime stares at him, his face expressionless.  “In your pocket.  This whole time?”

Marwyn’s smile is as innocent as a child’s but Brienne thinks it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well, yes—oh!  I suppose I understand now why everyone was so worried.”  Marwyn tsks.  “I would forget my own head if it wasn’t attached.”

A muscle flexes in Jaime’s jaw then he says, “What was so exciting that you had to rush away so quickly?”

Marwyn’s eyes light up.  “Look!”  He bustles over to his suitcase and pulls out a plastic bag with a fragment of pottery inside.  He hands it to them with an air of sharing a gleeful secret.

Brienne takes the bag and she and Jaime peer at it.

She shakes her head.  “I don’t understand.”

“Look at the composition!” Marwyn says, snatching the bag from her hand and pointing at the broken edge of it.  “And here there’s a small fleck of glaze still on it, miraculously undamaged by fire!”  He looks at their blank faces and shakes the artifact in their faces.  “Don’t you _see_?  This is a fragment of pottery from K’Dath!  _K’Dath_!  Found in _Vaes Dothrak_!  I had to get to K’Dath as quickly as possible to confirm my findings before anyone else realized what I’d discovered.”  His smile now is gloating.  “This proves my theory that the Dothraki roamed much farther during the Age of Magic than anyone else believes!  This is going to set the New Citadel back on its heels and open up entirely new avenues in the study of Dothraki history!”  He again shakes the artifact in their faces.  “Don’t you understand?  _I’m about to change the world!_ ”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne stand in companionable silence and watch the plane carrying Maester Marwyn depart Qohor for Oldtown.

“Just an absent-minded maester,” Jaime murmurs.

“You believe that?”

He slants her an amused look.  “Until we have reason to believe otherwise,” he says, and kisses her.

*/*/*/*/*


	6. Epilogue

***/*/*/*/***

Bronna takes one look at their faces when they walk into the office and grins.

Brienne blushes furiously, Jaime laughs, and Sam looks confused.

“Where did you say Maester Marwyn went?” Sam asks.

Brienne and Jaime blink at him.

Sam has the grace to look chagrined.  “Welcome back,” he mumbles, “but where did you say Maester Marwyn went?”

“K’Dath,” Brienne says with a puzzled frown.

Sam’s eyes widen and his chins wobble as his breathing speeds up.  “That’s what I thought,” he says and spins around, gesturing for them to follow.

*/*/*/*/*

They all lean over his shoulders, staring at the screen.

“What are we looking at?” Bronna asks.

Brienne thinks it’s a good question.  She knows he’s showing them a map of Essos with lines snaking around it, like veins in a leg, but the reason he’s showing it to them is still a mystery.

Sam says, “We’ve been tracking the dragon eggs since they were stolen.  This map shows where they’ve been in Essos, and where they are currently.”

Jaime abruptly straightens.  “Are you suggesting—?”

Sam gives a helpless shrug.  “You tell me.”  He uses his finger to trace a path as he speaks.  “The eggs travelled through almost every major city in northern Essos and arrived in K’Dath three weeks ago.  A week after they arrived, they were again on the move, this time heading west, and this time, hitting almost every major city in the southern reaches of Essos.  They arrived in Qohor the day before Maester Marwyn checked into his hotel.”

Jaime and Brienne stare at the screen in silence.

“Where are the eggs now?” Jaime asks.

Sam taps one particular line.  “On the move again, heading southeast.  So far.”

Jaime scowls.  “What the _fuck_ is going on?” he mutters and shakes his head.  He looks at Sam.  “Any chatter on the message boards?”

Sam shakes his head.  “Nothing obvious, anyway.”

“Download everything from the site and let’s go through it again,” Brienne says.  “There’s obviously something we’re missing.”

“We’ll never figure it out like that,” Bronna says, shaking her head.  “They’re speaking their own language.”

They all turn and look at her, frowning.

Bronna raises an eyebrow.  “Oh, come on!  You know exactly what I’m talking about!  Every group has its own language that only those who are part of that group understands.  Members of the group say something that’s innocuous to everyone else but has a much different meaning for those in the know.  For example, ‘I am Mr. Lannister’s most trusted associate, and he has put me in charge of this case’.”

Brienne shifts uncomfortably then nods.  “So what do you suggest?”

Bronna’s eyes gleam.  “I think we need to go undercover.  Or at least, I do.”  She laughs at Brienne’s expression.  “Online!  You know if anyone’s going to get people to spill their secrets on that board, it’s going to be me.”  She glances at Jaime.  “Or you...but I’m not the public face of the agency, so I have more time.  I can do this.”  She shrugs. “Besides, from the way you’re both glowing, I think you owe me a favour.”

*/*/*/*/*

They argue the merits of Bronna’s idea for several hours before they reluctantly agree.

“Sam,” Brienne says, “make sure they—whoever ‘they’ are—can’t trace anything back to Bronna’s true identity.”

Sam nods.  “Give me a day or so, Bronna.”

Bronna grins and rubs her hands together.  “Excellent.  This will give me something to do now that my previous project has ended successfully.”

Sam looks confused, Jaime laughs, and Brienne rolls her eyes.

“You’re so lucky I love you, Bronna,” she mutters.

Bronna simply beams at her and winks.

*/*/*/*/*

“Supper tonight?” Jaime says as they leave the office that evening.

Brienne smiles and nods.

He grins.  “My place at seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s smile when he opens his apartment door makes Brienne catch her breath.  He’s beautiful, she thinks as she steps inside.  His strong neck, exposed by his unbuttoned white shirt and the muscles moving in his broad shoulders as he closes the door actually makes her knees weak.

He turns to her.  “Supper’s—”

He staggers beneath her onslaught, falling back against the door, his arms wrapping round her as he enthusiastically responds to her kisses.

They break for air and he says, “I guess you’re not hungry?”

“Not for food,” she says and is rewarded with his laugh as he kisses her again.

*/*/*/*/*

They regain enough self-control to make sure the food he’s cooking won’t be ruined, then he takes her hand and leads her to the bedroom.  She stops on the threshold and looks around her, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“As romantic as I could make it,” he says, walking them to the bed then turning to face her.  The hint of uncertainty in his face and voice makes her heart tremble.

She ducks her head and blinks at him.  “Candlelight and soft music and Myrish silk sheets?”

His smile is almost as shy as hers.  “But no rose petals.  You hate roses.”

He lets out an ‘oof’ as she tackles him to the bed.

#####


End file.
